A
CONGRATULATORY POEM
Upon the Arrival of
His Electoral HIGHNESS
THE
PRINCE PALATINE
OF THE
RHINE,
Nephew to his Highness Prince RUPERT.
|
WElcome, great Prince, to Britains happy Isle,
|
Where all things now in peace and plenty smile;
|
Where every Man what Peace and Plenty brings
|
Tasts and enjoys, under the best of Kings.
|
Whilst all the World around disturbed are,
|
With the sad Whirlwind of devouring War.
|
From Wars and Ruines, Mighty Sir, you come,
|
And find us sleeping at our ease at home;
|
We hear the Rumour, but with small Concern,
|
And by Report alone we Troubles learn.
|
Princes, like noted Stars, no Motions make,
|
But every one doth Observation take:
|
Their Progress and their Stations are set down,
|
And all their Deviations are made known;
|
Whilst other Men, like Stars of smaller light,
|
Move un-observd, and twinkle out the Night.
|
Let dull Astronomers observe the Stars,
|
And from their Motions predict direful Wars,
|
Fore-tell the Fate of Princes, Fools bewitch
|
With future knowledge, till theyre in the Ditch:
|
Whilst Poets Welcomes and lowd Paeans sing,
|
And happy Wishes as their Offerings bring.
|
This Island cant but wish you all thats good,
|
Since you proceed from its own Royal Blood.
|
And the good will of Protestants you gain,
|
For you their Cause with Courage do maintain:
|
So that there seems a sympathy between
|
Our Silver Thames, and your Vine-bearing Rhine.
|
Then welcome, Sir, to our Kings Royal Arms,
|
Whos ready to redress all Europes harms:
|
Like Orpheus among ravenous beasts he stands,
|
With his peace-causing Lute between his hands,
|
On which with skilful Hands he gently plays,
|
And the wild murmuring Rout his Notes obeys.
|
Welcome to all, welcome above the rest,
|
To our great Prince, your dearest Unkles Breast.
|
He once the Terrible, and now the Good,
|
Amidst our Troubles, still unshaken stood:
|
Like a firm Rock beat on with furious waves,
|
All fortunes storms the Noble Prince out-braves.
|
At home, abroad, what glorious Acts has done,
|
Both for the Royal Father and the Son?
|
Beyond your Rhine has spread his Conquering Fame,
|
And all Men reverence Ruperts mighty Name.
|
A Name which like the Sun shall still shine bright,
|
To Foes a Terrour, and to Friends delight.
|
Welcome, great Prince, welcome the Poet sings,
|
To this fair place, the Royal Seat of Kings,
|
Where all things smile, and every one is bent
|
To give your Highness pleasure and content.
|
At once your Highness may in Windsor see
|
The Images of Peace and War agree;
|
Beauty and strength together Married, shine,
|
The seat of Majesty that seems Divine.
|
The Walls, the Guns, and Troops of Souldiers are
|
The Pictures and the Images of War;
|
But yet you may behold, pleasd, without doubt,
|
Peace, glorious peace within, and round about:
|
Within, the Court, and all its soft delights;
|
Without, the Swain, now following Ceres Rites;
|
The Fields new shorn, and Barns all filld with Grain,
|
And without fear, singing the Merry Swain.
|
Thus shew of War, and real Peace agree,
|
And make betwixt them blessed Harmonie.
|
Whilst the French Bore doth ravage every where,
|
And with his bloody Tusks gives dread and fear,
|
You find us rockd in peace and quiet here.
|
To this sweet Land of Peace youre welcome now,
|
And may like Lawrels in your Countries grow,
|
May ours still flourish: for Peace and Love
|
Makes Earth like Heaven, and Men like Saints above.
|
|
|
|
|
|